A/N: Well, all, I am back! After approximately two years of life’s mayhem (working two jobs, getting pregnant, then hubby graduating and getting a job that necessitated a move across state lines with a newborn. . .), I’m now in a place with my time and creative energies to resume Fearful Symmetry. Thank you ALL for your extraordinary patience and dedicated readership! It’s good to be back; it truly is. I wish to say a huge thanks to Roxey and Lizzy S. for volunteering in the Tea Room to beta the newest stuff. I am always happy to add more pre-viewers, since the more eyes on this monster there are prior to posting, the better! (Also, I miss you, Lisa Y.!). I am re-posting Chapter 16 to correct one continuity error AND to help all of you here on the boards remember where we were in the story when life so rudely interrupted. If you recall, Jane and Elizabeth had returned home to Longbourn from Netherfield after Jane’s illness, only to return with their entire family when Longbourn caught fire. The original plot of Pride and Prejudice inverts at this point, and new symmetries take place, mirroring and reversing some of the novel’s action and thematic elements. As always in JAFF-verse, all borrowed quotations belong to Miss Austen. Enjoy! Chapter Sixteen On Saturday, the entire party at Netherfield gathered in the front sitting room to better enjoy its large and warm fireplace during a day that had turned cold, dreary and wet — the first sign of winter’s anticipated arrival. Mr. Darcy was hard at work at the escritoire in the far corner, largely ignoring the conversations buzzing around him. His back was to the fire, giving better light to his ledger books as he worked calculations of yield, comparing them from one season to the next. Elizabeth, in one of the chairs farther removed from the blaze, tried to keep her stitching even as she alternately squinted down at her work in the poor light from the window and studied Mr. Darcy with occasional stolen glances. The escritoire seemed too small for him, she had decided. His shoulders were nearly wider than the writing surface, and the length of his legs and large feet quite extended beyond the footings of the desk. But his own proportions, though grander than those of most men and certainly grander than the desk itself was designed to accommodate, were so harmonious with themselves as to lend his figure grace. When she considered what she could conjecture of his lineage – the Norman blood of the D’Arcys from centuries before, combined with the Anglo-Scots of the Fitzwilliams of the Highlands – she felt that she could trace both, somewhat, in his mien and build. For did he not have the strong-boned face and the long-legged stride of the conquering men from Normandy? Did he not also have the sturdy, close-sinewed musculature of the Scots—and every bit of their surprising strength from ages of warriors past? She smiled as she stitched. Visions of such characters among his family history were pleasing to entertain, for it was difficult to imagine Mr. Darcy with a conqueror’s club or a Scottish dirk in hand when she had only ever seen him grasp the tools of a gentleman: the reins of his mount or, as he did now, a pen. She glanced up to watch his hands alternately spread and move over the pages, and soon, she discovered that her fantastical visions certainly seemed feasible. For his hands, upon inspection, showed themselves clearly more hardy than refined, with his long fingers less tapered and his knuckles much larger than those she had seen among the pale, slender hands of so many coiffed and powdered dandies in the fashionable streets of London. No, Mr. Darcy’s hands were certainly not those of a foppish gentleman of leisure, she decided; they had too much mass to be considered elegant. Yet, they were cleverly formed, with a dexterous, tough-tendoned grip that Elizabeth felt suited his decisive nature far better. As she observed him at his work, he surreptitiously rolled stiffness out of the shoulder guiding his writing. He had been working long in that attitude, she surmised, long enough that he had been there before Miss Bingley had directed her guests into this room following breakfast. Now that so many were gathered in his working space — which perhaps might have been Miss Bingley’s peevish design — he had drawn his brows together in concentration and perseverance. It seemed he was determined to finish his task, regardless. His strained expression stirred her, and Elizabeth, suddenly discomfited, was forced to remember herself and attend again to her work. As she stitched, Elizabeth measured the emotions that brimmed near the surface of her consciousness and sought to understand them. Now that she had spoken to her aunt and had acquainted herself better with her growing attraction to Mr. Darcy, she was prepared to own that her tender feelings were stronger than they ought. She therefore felt only mild surprise when her inclinations drove an impulse she could recognize towards the forefront of her mind: her first desire was to ease his discomfort, to lighten his burden — to give him aid in any way she could— even to ease the tension in his shoulders with her own hands. Were he Jane suffering so, she would have done it. But as it was, the notion presented itself as something so wholly improper that she blushed and nearly dropped her sewing as the vision of her actually touching him played upon some inner stage before her mind’s eye. As she fumbled with her threads in a flustered manner, Mr. Darcy’s glance alighted upon her with some amusement and curiosity as to her discomfiture. When her gaze met his in response and her already rosy countenance took on a deeper hue, he found himself nearly unable to continue his own work due to the sudden, wild turns of his speculative imagination. Teasing, teasing woman! Suddenly, the sound of the wind and rain from outside increased, and those conversing in the room were forced to talk louder. Mrs. Bennet had already once complained that the rain had prevented another visit between the Gardiners and Bennets during morning calls, and so, finding the sound of the water slapping against the house disturbing to her nerves, she now complained of it again. The rain did not, however, prevail against the arrival of one unexpected visitor whose determination and lack of sense rendered him quite impervious to the discomforts of such a journey. “Mr. Collins!” cried Mrs. Bennet, smothering her alarm at his somewhat sodden appearance with effusions of welcome. “We are very glad you are come to visit, and on such a day, too.” “Madam,” replied he, bowing and dripping a little upon Miss Bingley’s fine carpet as he removed his wide-brimmed hat and handed it to the footman. “I am come today to inquire after Miss Elizabeth’s health, for she took such a sudden illness when last I visited as to impress upon me the necessity of calling again to confirm her recovery, once sufficient time had passed as to allow her some hope of obtaining it.” “That is very kind of you, sir,” put in Miss Bingley with fawning warmth, for she had found in this absurd man’s attention to Elizabeth a much-needed source of mirth in view of her previous day’s many mortifications. “Pray, do stay and take some tea, and make yourself quite at home. As you see, there is a seat just there, near Miss Elizabeth’s chair.” This invitation was met with many cheerful words and deep bows by Mr. Collins. But Elizabeth, who had risen from her sewing to curtsey with the other ladies upon his entry, immediately sank back into her seat, glancing alternately at Miss Bingley and her mother with no small expression of alarm. Too late, she found herself once again in Mr. Collins’ close company as he approached her with a plodding and resolute step. “Cousin Elizabeth, I am delighted to find you well, and I wished to express to you my humblest apologies if ought I said or did on Thursday contributed to your illness,” said he, without further greeting. “And I wish to offer you some comfort by informing you that, in addition to becoming the focus of many meditations as to how best to seek your forgiveness, you have also been the subject of my particular prayers for God’s healing and grace. As one who wishes for you only blessings and the happiest of lives, I would greatly desire during the course of this morning to request a private audience with yourself in the hopes of securing both objects,” he declared. With a smile at Mrs. Bennet, he added, “I shall, of course, request such permission from your honored parents as required for an audience of this intimate kind.” Elizabeth was aghast. Before she could respond, Mr. Collins turned and applied to her mother with his request, which was eagerly granted. “But of course!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet. “Lizzy, go into the music room at once and await Mr. Collins.” “Please, Mamma, there is nothing that Mr. Collins may say to me that others might not hear,” Elizabeth pleaded, too much now in dread of her suitor to feel concerned by exposing herself in front of their party. Her mother’s response was sharp and biting. “Lizzy, I insist that you go now and hear Mr. Collins!” Wide-eyed, Elizabeth sought Jane’s gaze across the room, silently begging her sister to accompany her. When she stood up trembling, Jane stood, too, but Mrs. Bennet put out an arm to detain her eldest. “What do you do here, Jane? You have no need to go.” “Lizzy only wished — ” The hand forestalling Jane’s progress tightened on her shoulder a fraction and signaled her silence. “Stay where you are and keep Mr. Bingley company; I insist upon it,” hissed Mrs. Bennet. Elizabeth’s gaze offered her sister all clemency as Jane settled obediently back into her seat. Elizabeth then took a tremulous breath, gave her mother a level, angry stare, and resolutely turned from the room. As Mr. Collins bowed to the company and opened his mouth to make his excuses to follow his cousin, an imperious voice near the fire, intoned so much like that of his patroness despite its depth of timbre, caused him to freeze in his tracks out of ingrained habit. “Mr. Collins, before you are gone from us, I would speak to you of a matter pressing to Her Ladyship’s concerns.” It was not a request, and to prove it, Mr. Darcy moved towards the parson and overwhelmed him with the difference of their heights and the fullness of his gaze, dark and flinty now in the firelight. “It should take only a few moments of your time.” The command of his appeal at once rendered the parson into an insensible mass of submission. “But of course, Mr. Darcy!” sputtered Mr. Collins, bowing obsequiously by instinct. Mr. Darcy gestured for him to follow him from the room brusquely, and Mr. Collins at once complied, following doggishly on his heels to the library. From her chair, Mrs. Bennet huffed at both men in consternation at the timing of such a request as they went out. When they arrived in the library, Mr. Darcy took a seat of authority behind the desk and beckoned Mr. Collins into the facing chair. Mr. Collins’ nervousness bubbled over into unprompted speech: “Sir, if I may say —” “I would rather you did not,” returned Mr. Darcy. “I would come to my point first, Mr. Collins.” “But of — ” His reply was cut short with an impatient turn of Mr. Darcy’s large hand. “Now, is it my understanding that you came into Hertfordshire under direction from my aunt to seek out a proper wife to join you in your work in the Church; is that not so?” “You deduce splendidly, sir,” replied Mr. Collins, who would have gone on, except that Mr. Darcy’s eyes now bound him to silence. “I would imagine that my aunt has impressed upon you the importance of finding a woman of excellent character, and of good family, and whose comportment would befit the humility and unimpeachable respectability befitting the wife of a clergyman,” continued Mr. Darcy. “Is that not also so?” Mr. Collins nodded mutely. Mr. Darcy’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward over his steepled fingers on the desk. “You choose exceedingly ill, Mr. Collins, if Miss Elizabeth Bennet is now your object. My aunt would find much to despise in Miss Bennet’s impertinence and willful independence were she to hold such a station as parson’s wife at the Hunsford parish. Have you never noticed these defects in Miss Bennet when you have been thrown together in company?” “I confess I have not had much occasion to observe them, sir,” replied Mr. Collins in growing alarm. “But, while these faults may present themselves in Miss Bennet in such a setting as Hertfordshire, would not her behavior in Kent be rightly tempered by those senses of natural awe excited in every person by Her Ladyship’s authority and standing? Indeed, I would think Miss Bennet’s other, better virtues would teach her to mend such defects as an act of respect, especially once she came to understand how much of her care was provided for her by the beneficent generosity of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.” “Upon my word, sir,” replied Mr. Darcy in some exasperation, holding up his hand again to forestall further foolishness. “Your hope is indeed extraordinary in view of what I must now relate: I am obliged to inform you that my own standing in society has certainly proven insufficient inducement to curb Miss Bennet’s sharp tongue. On more than one occasion, she has gone so far as to discredit my opinions in public, challenge my character, and presume to enter into open debate as an equal against me among my peers.” “Has she indeed?” gasped Mr. Collins, mouth gaping wide in horrified shock. “I do see now, sir, how very mistaken I was in her character. Very mistaken! I thank you, sir, for the kindness of your forethought in sharing this information with me before I made a most grievous error which would have proven, in time, to be of great and lasting annoyance to my noble patroness. I would not see Her Ladyship offended for the world, I assure you, and certainly not by any wife of mine! I shall go at once to inform my cousin that my intentions must, by necessity, shift away from herself in consideration of such ill-considered vanity and pride as this behavior demonstrates.” “Very well-reasoned, Mr. Collins,” said Mr. Darcy, forcing back a small smile tugging at his lips. Mr. Darcy was thanked again and again for his candor and thoughtfulness in giving such advice, and Mr. Collins, having been granted his advisor’s leave repeatedly from this interview, turned and quit the room after several bows. Mr. Darcy arose and went to the window, where, clasping his hands behind his back, he smiled broadly into the driving rain. In the music room, Elizabeth’s own nerves were in an awful state. She dreaded the coming interview and had been growing in her vexation and perplexity as the clock behind her continued to tick away without the appearance of her would-be suitor. She had just risen from her chair to run from the room before he could arrive when he did, at last, appear in the doorway before her, and in doing so blocked her last means of escape. Mr. Collins bowed to her as she started, gestured for her to be seated again with a sweep of his hand, and in discomposed yet solemn tones, thus began: “My dear cousin, my attentions to you of late have been too marked to be mistaken, but I have just this morning learned that there has, indeed, been some mistake! Forgive me, I misrepresent myself! Let me begin by recounting to you my reasons for coming into Hertfordshire with the design of selecting a wife, as I certainly did. It may be advisable for me to begin with my reasons for seeking marriage.” “Mr. Collins —” Mr. Collins’s face clouded at this interruption — which yielded further evidence of her impertinence — and Elizabeth at once went silent at his unexpectedly forbidding expression. He went on coldly, “My reasons for marrying are, first, that I think it a right thing for every clergyman to set the example of matrimony in his parish. Secondly, that I am convinced it will add very greatly to my happiness if I choose well; and thirdly, which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling patroness. Twice has she condescended to give me her opinion on this subject; and it was but the very Saturday night before I left Hunsford when she said, ‘Mr. Collins, you must marry. A clergyman like you must marry. Choose properly, choose a gentlewoman for my sake; and for your own, let her be an active, useful sort of person, not brought up too high, but able to make a small income go a good way. This is my advice. Find such a woman as soon as you can, bring her to Hunsford, and I will visit her.’ “And, so, desirous of meeting her requirements and also of healing the breach created by the entail of Longbourn, which, upon the death of your father (who may live many years yet) lawfully will fall under my care, I left Kent to seek a wife among the daughters of your household. Blinded by your manifold attractions almost at our earliest introduction, I singled you out as the companion of my future life. Although I had little occasion to observe the workings of your mind and character, I began to fancy that your vivacity must be acceptable to my patroness, especially when tempered with the silence and respect which Her Ladyship’s rank will inevitably excite. Mr. Collins face took on a look of pained thoughtfulness. “Here I now unhappily discover myself to be mistaken,” he continued, “for only just this morning, I was given advice from the highest authority at hand regarding this matter — the advice of a gentleman who has, in sharing a house and neighborhood with you, been of your acquaintance above several weeks, and whose powers of observation must indeed be considerable, given the greatness of mind which his lineage has bestowed upon him.” Elizabeth’s color bloomed as she wondered, supposed, and was silent. Mr. Collins took a breath of some satisfaction at seeing her discomposure before he revealed his esteemed source: “Mr. Darcy, who is Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s most valued nephew, spoke to me himself just moments before I entered this room, and acquainted me with such failings of your character as I deemed weighty enough to justify my throwing off any notions to form an alliance with you. Indeed, I now deem it my Christian duty, and my duty as your cousin, and my duty most notably as a clergyman, to alert you to these faults in your sinful nature which will inevitably expose you in your lifetime to censure by those in a position of rank, and which, indeed, may affect your own future prospects if they are observed by other gentlemen of any standing.” “Sir,” said Elizabeth, suddenly burning with curiosity, “your words affect me deeply, and my interest and concern are all aflame. Please, Mr. Collins, I beg of you — be frank with me, and I shall thank you in advance for any insight which you may relay to me from the mouth of Mr. Darcy.” “It is a privilege indeed to have such notice given to my concerns by such a man,” mused Mr. Collins, “but in this, he greatly resembles his aunt; I therefore cannot tender any true surprise. But I shall not fail in my duty to you, madam, by giving you all the benefits to be found in his most attentive correction. “My dear cousin,” he continued sternly, “Mr. Darcy has informed me that you have a certain ‘willful independence’ in your character which refuses to bend before the dignities of rank and superior breeding. It was with great astonishment on my part that he gave me to know that you — on more than one occasion! —have so raised your own ill-formed opinions in your eyes as to render you too willing to most impertinently challenge his own, and more damaging still, that you have even thus acted before others and exposed yourself to ridicule by attempting to compare the workings of your mind to that of an educated gentleman. Beyond this, he tells me, you have also entered into argumentation on points of his character and merit within discourse in a manner most unbecoming a lady, behavior which would again reveal no small feelings of undue pride in your own vain ignorance.” As Mr. Collins paused to recover his breath — a needful resource becoming more and more valuable as his haranguing increased in volume — Elizabeth tried to paint upon her face an expression of contrition, but she was helpless to do more than cover her mouth to hide her rising mirth. Mr. Collins, seeing her discomposed and covering her mouth (which in his eyes, seemed to display some manner of self-censuring dismay) continued with some warmth, “All of these failings caused me to reconsider carefully those offers I had hoped to make to you today. But of greatest weight was Mr. Darcy’s opinion that such behavior as you exhibit would be most repulsive to his noble aunt, rendering you in her eyes most unfit for assuming the role of parson’s wife. Indeed, Miss Elizabeth, I am afraid that hardly any man would deem such qualities fitting in a wife, and I urge you now to re-examine your behavior and your conscience before you are wholly beyond the reach of amendment!” As unexpected as this reproval was to Elizabeth, relief upon relief nevertheless mounted within her breast, and she had to force down her own laughter, even as he rebuked her. Her eyes began to sting and water with the effort. Mr. Collins, seeing some evidence of what he perceived to be distress, softened his tone of address, but did not relent in his correction. “For today, Cousin Elizabeth,” he went on, “you have missed a great opportunity due to your own poor judgment. My situation in life, my connections with the family of De Bourgh, and my relationship to your own, are circumstances highly in my favor as a suitor — and these offerings have all bypassed you, due to your own neglect of character. Further, you should take it into consideration that, despite your manifold attractions, it is by no means certain that another offer of marriage may ever be made to you if you do not reform. Indeed, your portion is unhappily so small already that it will in all likelihood undo the effects of your loveliness and amiable qualifications, even if you achieve absolute perfection in all aspects of your conduct. I must therefore conclude, cousin, by repeating my hope that you will attend to your improvement, and by expressing my desire that you will also forgive me for reneging to offer you that which my behavior might have led you to hope for, and which might have benefitted your situation greatly, had your behavior been better.” At this last declaration, he rose from his seat in an attitude of mixed pity and pomposity and appeared to have finished. He bowed to her once with a superior expression of solemnity and turned to go, but not before pausing to add, “Allow me, by the way, to observe, my fair cousin, that I do not reckon the notice of Mr. Darcy in pointing out your faults to be without merit for your consideration as well. It would befit you to offer him your apologies for your past misdeeds and also to tender him gratitude for his correction, even as I myself saw fit to thank him for his information.” “Mr. Collins,” replied Elizabeth, her eyes dancing as she held back yet another laugh, “I can hardly not thank him. He is all goodness itself, and I find that today’s events have even more fully impressed upon me the true superiority of his mind above my own. I will not neglect any duty to him, I assure you.” Mr. Collins bowed again in approval, and Elizabeth dropped into a curtsey. He went out at last, and as the door swung closed behind him, Elizabeth fell onto the music stool, helplessly clutching her sides as hysterical laughter overwhelmed her. After some minutes of insuppressible mirth, she dabbed at her eyes and cleared her throat. Even with her discomposure put aside, the heady feelings of relief and happiness would not abate. She could not contain her wild delight at her sudden freedom. Skipping down the hallway as gaily as a child, she came into the library, beaming to discover Mr. Darcy there alone, having moved to its larger table with his ledger books. She bit her lip, hiding her smile as he looked up and drew to his feet. With an expression of perfect ease, Mr. Darcy crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her with one dark eyebrow raised, much in the manner of a war general awaiting with confident anticipation the news of his assured victory. “Sir,” said Elizabeth evenly, “I am come to tell you that I must honor my promise to Mr. Collins.” In an instant, his face transfigured to horrified astonishment; his arms came uncrossed; and he seemed to fall a little forward as he clutched the head of the chair he had so recently abandoned and said, “What? What did you say?” “I promised him that I would apologize to you now for ever having questioned the opinions and workings of your mind,” Elizabeth explained. “Indeed, I find it is just that I do so. I own freely that your mind now holds no equal for me — for that was indeed the prettiest piece of cleverness I ever saw!” At her pronouncement, Elizabeth gave in helplessly once more to laughter, which only increased as she watched the astonishment melt from Mr. Darcy’s face into understanding — and finally amusement. As he let out a breath slowly and then dissolved into chuckles along with her, she eventually caught her breath and continued, “I also promised him that I would thank you for pointing out my faults in such a fashion. It was most well done, sir. Your timeliness could not have been better.” “I assure you, it was my pleasure to discredit you so soundly,” said he with a bow and a slightly wicked grin. Elizabeth laughed again in delight at his perversity and came around the table to stand before him. He straightened in surprise at her nearness and looked rather perplexed as she proffered her hand for him to take. He dutifully took it up without hesitation, weighing it as it fit neatly and almost completely into his palm. Great was his astonishment when she then tightened her grasp and shook hands with him warmly. “In all seriousness, Mr. Darcy,” she began again, whilst they were still thus connected, “I find myself marveling that I owe you once again for snatching me from a fate no less perilous to my life and happiness than what we faced at Longbourn.” As she spoke, she gave him the best of her brilliant gaze, glittering in sincerity. But seeing him somewhat discomfited at her proximity and praise as he shifted on his feet and struggled to meet her eyes, Elizabeth was forced to recall with anxiety what her aunt had told her — that there was no firm reason yet to suppose him having any real affection for her. She therefore was reminded of her duty to herself, to her aunt, and to him, and restrained herself from showing him her heart. Primly, then, yet not without warmth, she said, “You could not have acted better today in defense of my sanity were you my own brother. I can find in no other man a truer friend; I am most heartily convinced. I thank you from my heart, Mr. Darcy.” His face at once drained of good spirits at her declaration as he blinked and straightened his shoulders. But she, choosing to see in this change the signals of his surprise rather than his equal measure of disappointment, moved to soothe his spirits for him by pressing his hand. Then, before her courage could abandon her, she gave into her wish to give him some token of her affection in the only fashion she could: she rose upon her toes and brushed a brief and grateful kiss upon his cheek, much as she might have done with her uncle or her father — or, had she one, as she had named him — a brother. As there was no sentiment in Mr. Darcy’s heart that felt remotely avuncular or fraternal towards her, he could only blush, step back from her, and say quietly and with a fullness of feeling, “I am ever at your service, Miss Bennet.” “And I yours,” returned she, curtseying to him with her own color high at her act of boldness. She then turned and traipsed gaily from the room, leaving him to his dusty ledger books and the searing remembrance of her kiss. Chapter Seventeen All of Netherfield attended Sunday services the next morning, and after luncheon was cleared away, it was with great wonder that Elizabeth was at last able to observe a phenomenon once described to her by Mr. Bingley: Mr. Darcy, of a Sunday evening, when he had nothing to do. Books could not hold him, although he did try some; and conversation with him, though it was attempted by various persons and on various subjects, proved impossible. The man could truly not sit still; and even as discourse in the room resumed yet again after the refreshing interruption and stimulation of the arrival of the Gardiners, he could not commit himself to speech. Instead, he stalked about the room in a fashion which Elizabeth might once have found intimidating or even infuriating. Now, she merely found his actions amusing and somewhat worthy of her pity and concern. “‘A more awful object,” indeed!’ she thought, recalling Mr. Bingley’s words. ‘A caged bear might have borne such confinement better. I wonder what it is that makes him fret so?’ Mrs. Gardiner sagely and silently observed it all. She even captured those tortured glances directed at Elizabeth which her niece did not. It was plain to her that Mr. Darcy was suffering acutely, and she could only presume that the source of such distress must have been something of her niece’s doing. Much talk had spread already that Mr. Collins had returned to Lucas Lodge after a remarkably short visit to Netherfield. This knowledge and its intimations, handed out as near-fact by the arresting gossips in the churchyard and compounded with the indisputable signals of disdain in Mrs. Bennet’s constant unpleasantness to Elizabeth, led Mrs. Gardiner to suspect that some refusal to Mr. Collins had been made. Mrs. Gardiner shook her head at her own conclusions. While she had not yet made the acquaintance of Mr. Collins, her impressions gathered from the man’s general acquaintance were enough to tell her that Elizabeth would in no way find him attractive, despite his generous offers. She fervently hoped that her niece had not turned away Mr. Collins due to an as-yet unfounded expectation of a better offer from another quarter. For Mrs. Gardiner, having long seen the world and its cruelty to young lovers of decided differences in class and sphere, had been taught that such expectations would often tender bitter disappointment to those who gave themselves up to fanciful hopes. Mrs. Gardiner’s opinion only found reinforcement as she observed Mr. Darcy. For, as Mr. Darcy prowled restlessly about the room and avoided all conversation, Mrs. Gardiner began to determine that, although that gentleman’s admiration for her niece was obvious, he would never act on it. No, indeed – she was growing ever sure of it: Mr. Darcy would never dare to defy his duties to his sphere and make any proposals to her niece. Mr. Darcy’s present agitation spoke too loudly of his plans, silent though he remained; his distress was too obvious a symptom of his struggle as he resolved against ever lowering himself to act on an impulse of attraction. Little did Mrs. Gardiner know that his suppression, acutely though it pained him, arose from sources beyond some nefarious workings of pride in his station. Nor could she have surmised that Mr. Darcy had already determined that he was able to withstand his feelings only if such self-denials were temporary, and that he hoped they indeed would be short-lived. Time — and the surrendered assurance of Elizabeth’s passionate regard — were needed to soothe him, was all. To own the truth, Mr. Darcy felt entrapped by his intolerable position. He could scarcely stay still for want of moving somehow nearer to her in her affections, for he could not long abide being her heart’s brother. How such an appellation haunted him! How he sought to defy it! In fits and starts, Mr. Darcy returned his distracted senses to the conversation at hand, only to be pained once more as he listened. “I daresay there will be a great many young ladies disappointed, but I can see how our staying here — and after such a frightful event!—might force the ball to be postponed. I wonder I did not ask you of it before,” Mrs. Bennet was saying. “Oh, indeed; yet, at another time, we shall host it gladly,” returned Miss Bingley through her teeth. “After all, Charles and Jane are so fond of dancing, and we must make every attempt to afford them marital bliss, once the wedding is over. Is that not right, dear Jane?” Miss Bennet’s demure reply was lost to him, for Mr. Darcy was recalling sometime a week prior, when he had been tempted by the idea of staying on until the Netherfield Ball set for the twenty-sixth — if only for the pleasure of dancing with Elizabeth. But now it was not to be; and in less than eight and forty hours, Elizabeth would be gone to London, where he might only have occasion to call upon her with his sister, and perhaps share some conversation with her when she came to call upon Georgiana. It was unlikely they would meet socially otherwise, and certainly not to dance, since Elizabeth would now be relegated far away from his own circles and any more intimate, spirited gatherings. Certainly, he and Elizabeth would never find themselves alone together in a library again! He cursed himself a fool. The brilliance of his mind, so well-proven yesterday, seemed feeble under the weight of the depression today’s feelings brought. The muster of any plan or contrivance to secure her affections eluded him in his enforced helplessness — a condition unfamiliar to him, and reached only through the sheer excess of the many pangs of what he now believed to be an unrequited love. Across the room in some affinity of distress, Elizabeth’s own disquietude began to mount at the premonition of the coming loss of Mr. Darcy’s daily company. For, in the past week, her ears had learnt to favor the sound of his voice, her eyes had come to seek delight in his countenance, and her mind and her heart had been so stirred by the many tokens of his intelligence and kindness as to arouse both to keen interest and affectionate regard. Study of him had become her most joyful diversion: she could not now be in the same room with him without becoming absorbed in his expressions and his doings. She wondered now if his absence would render her more—or less—sensible or distracted a creature, and if she would ever teach herself not to hope for some evidence of his affection, even after they were parted. As the evening wore on and Mr. Darcy’s silence stretched out ominously despite the lively conversation Elizabeth attempted to instigate within their company at the dinner table, Elizabeth began to fathom that her love must be in vain. Indeed, as she reflected upon it, she realized that he had hardly spoken a word to her all day. As a consequence, she went to bed dejected and slept very ill. When Monday dawned, her spirits fell further with the onerous tasks this day presented: while her mother, Jane, and Lydia went to take their leave of their friends in Meryton (although Mrs. Bennet viewed these meetings as opportunities to crow of her triumph in Jane’s upcoming nuptials), Elizabeth was to go again to Longbourn. She would be accompanied this time by her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, her father, and also Mary, to reunite with Mr. and Mrs. Hill and the second of their two housemaids, to gather what other clothes and articles they could for the family’s sojourn in London. Upon their arrival, however, Elizabeth and her relations were pleasantly surprised at the efficiencies already performed. Mr. and Mrs. Hill had seen to what preparations they could manage just as soon as the foreman, Mr. Higgins, had declared certain upper-room floor joists to be sufficiently reinforced and safe to bear the strain of some activity. The dear Hills had worked with the scullery maid, Sarah, and scoured, scrubbed, laundered, ironed, aired, and placed much of what was often used by the Bennets into trunks. By tacit understanding, the sexes took to different tasks. The women gathered before the trunks and began organizing what was needed for their winter sojourn, while the men went at once to confirm with Mr. Higgins an order containing all of the needful materials for the next stage of repairs. With far more ease and a great deal less soot, Elizabeth and her relations completed their tasks in time for dinner preparations, at which time Mr. Bingley’s footmen arrived to place the heavy trunks into a wagon bound for Netherfield. She did not envy them tomorrow’s task of strapping them to the roofs of the Bennets’ and Gardiners’ carriages. When she returned to the drawing room at Netherfield, she was surprised not only to find some refreshments thoughtfully set out for their return, but also to discern among the many greetings offered to her the earnest tones of Mr. Darcy. “I trust your morning’s business was concluded successfully?” he was asking. “Yes, sir,” she replied, taking up a teacup in hand. She smiled as she reported, “Mr. Higgins’ forethought in reinforcing the upper floor allowed us access to most of our rooms to find what that was needed. You did well to recommend his services.” “I am glad, though not surprised, to hear it,” returned Mr. Darcy in some satisfaction. “He has a reputation, proven in much of his work on my properties, for careful plans carried out with expediency. It may yet be that we may see your sister holding court at her own table for her wedding breakfast.” Elizabeth smiled and shifted her weight as she balanced her saucer, wondering at this turn of conversation. “I am sure that would please Jane immensely, and my mother no less so,” she replied. She then glanced meaningfully across the room at Mr. Bingley, who was laughing with Jane on the fashionable sofa, the perfect picture of felicity and thriving affection. “Although I know that the formulae for such arrangements shall not ultimately matter — especially not to your friend.” “No, indeed. I think him extremely fortunate in his choice of wife,” said Mr. Darcy, following her eyes to behold the beaming couple. “His happiness could not be more complete or certain.” He smiled a little at Elizabeth as he gestured towards the mate to his own chair. Once she had taken that seat with an alacrity she thought she hid rather well, she returned, “Nor could hers. In that respect, they are well-matched.” Looking a little askance at Miss Bingley, who she perceived was watching her closely from her position near the teapot, Elizabeth could not help but add, “— Although some could say that your friend chose ill, in terms of fortune.” Mr. Darcy drew his chair a little forward and conscientiously lowered his voice. “Fortune, while not immaterial to one of the so-called nouveaux-riche, is not the only consideration. Your sister is gently born, which is an attribute my friend unhappily cannot claim, although he has risen to a gentleman’s status upon his and his family’s own fortune and persistence.” “That might be true,” replied Elizabeth, “but to wed a gentlewoman who is essentially dowerless, with a damaged homestead on a small estate — which is entailed away from her — and whose family boasts no real connections of value?” She shook her head. “I fail to see how their union could assist him — or his sister — in any plans to achieve or maintain high standing in society.” Mr. Darcy frowned, perturbed by her persistence in a vein which could offer little contentment. “Connections can be built upon, just as homes can be rebuilt,” he returned evenly. Elizabeth bit her lip. “If, by ‘connections,’ you mean to say that Jane and Mr. Bingley may make many advantageous friendships, then you would be right: they are each so obliging and good-natured that they will always keep within a generous circle of acquaintance. Yet friendship only carries so far; those connections by blood and marriage are of greatest significance to those in your sphere; you cannot deny it.” “No, I cannot. Friendship between families, while important in one generation, often does not stand in the next, as blood does. Bloodlines and marital alliances are indeed deemed essential — and I fear only in this one resolution does our wastrel peerage seek to provide for its own future.” Elizabeth shook her head, for she could not expect a different answer. “Perhaps Miss Bingley will marry a lord,” she quipped, before taking a sip of her tea. Mr. Darcy, gladdened to see some return of her brighter spirits, chuckled doubtfully and took up his own cup, allowing Elizabeth a reprieve from his conversation so that she could enjoy her tea. But as he sipped and sat back in his chair to observe her, his mind traced over his own unspoken words: “Or perhaps she will acquire an Earl’s nephew for a brother-in-law.” As the tea things were cleared away, the arrival of a footman immediately drew attention. The liveried young man sought Miss Bingley’s permission to present the latest post to those gathered, as it had not arrived in time for breakfast. Permission was granted, and he returned with many notes from a vast circle of their acquaintance bidding the Bennets a fond journey, offered in response to the many notes Jane and Mrs. Bennet had sent on Friday to those they knew they could not — or did not care to, in Mrs. Bennet’s case — visit directly prior to their leaving the neighborhood. Mrs. Bennet claimed the pile of correspondence with all the esurience of a cat offered the first drippings of cream. To Elizabeth’s mortified dismay, Mrs. Bennet began opening some of them and exclaiming to the room over the neighborly felicitations offered to Jane and Bingley in such a fashion as embarrassed both of the lovers. “For you know, they are so frightfully jealous of you, Jane; they must be. But they do say such kind things — you ought to read it for yourself,” she went on, handing Jane one of many notes. “Indeed, such kind attention from all our neighbors comes so unexpected, yet so welcome. Look how many letters there are! For see, here is one from Hetty Marshall, and look! Mrs. Gaines sends word as well. And here, this one comes almost from the next county — and here —” Mrs. Bennet paused, puzzling over the directions written on one missive, and then another. “Why, Elizabeth, here are two letters addressed to you, too. I wonder who should have occasion to write to you, when you have nothing to do with anything? Oh, but this one is only from Charlotte Lucas — that hand and direction I know. But now, then: this one is from London, at quite a fashionable return address and in a very dainty hand. Who do you know in London, Lizzy?” Her daughter blushed to have the details of her correspondence so bandied about. “Mama, pray give the letters to me, and I shall look into the matter directly,” said Elizabeth evenly, attempting to be calm in the midst of her mother’s interfering ebullience. Mrs. Bennet tutted her disappointment, but reached over to hand Elizabeth the pair of missives. As she did so, Miss Bingley stepped forward to prevent Elizabeth from relying on Mr. Darcy, who in his seat was nearer, to close the gap between mother and daughter. As soon as Miss Bingley’s sensitive fingers closed on the letters, she felt the one of them distinguished by its fine linen-weave paper, and her eyes sought the address. Astonishment creased her brow. She then turned to Elizabeth with sourness settled upon her expression. “Why, Miss Elizabeth, I had no idea you were on such intimate terms with a certain young lady in London,” Miss Bingley sneered as she reluctantly did her office. As Elizabeth silently received the letters in question and marvelled at the speed of the reply from Miss Darcy, Mr. Darcy himself could not help peering slightly over her shoulder from where he sat. “I had forgotten you had written back to my sister,” he said without thinking, having been rendered altogether too cheerful for restraint at this sign of his sister’s eagerness. The effect of Mr. Darcy’s obvious pleasure — and his intelligence that it was his sister who had written first — turned Miss Bingley’s color. “Dear Georgiana is very kind to condescend to continue the correspondence,” put in Miss Bingley. “Such charity of spirit is to be commended.” “I daresay,” said Elizabeth absently, not even looking up as she turned the letter over in her hands. Seeing Miss Bingley alighting too closely nearby, Elizabeth stood and curtsied. “Pray, excuse me,” she said to Miss Bingley. Then to Mr. Darcy, she explained, “I feel I should attend to this correspondence before further travel preparations prevent me.” Until next time...when the Bennets are off to London!https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119384#msg-119384Tue, 26 May 2026 13:19:33 +0100 Phorum 5.2.22 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119694#msg-119694 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119694#msg-119694 Abbie C. Derbyshire Writers' GuildMon, 01 Feb 2016 03:17:38 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119588#msg-119588 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119588#msg-119588 LisaZ Derbyshire Writers' GuildMon, 25 Jan 2016 17:58:02 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119480#msg-119480 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119480#msg-119480 jassodra Derbyshire Writers' GuildSun, 17 Jan 2016 15:03:50 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119474#msg-119474 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119474#msg-119474 Cecilia Derbyshire Writers' GuildSat, 16 Jan 2016 20:19:36 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119468#msg-119468 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119468#msg-119468 Petrina Derbyshire Writers' GuildFri, 15 Jan 2016 22:37:38 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119467#msg-119467 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119467#msg-119467
As to the continuity errors in the original Ch. 16, there was one historical continuity error about Mr. Collins' hat and another situational error as to where Elizabeth was waiting for her dreaded interview with Mr. Collins; it affected things like descriptions of props like furniture, etc. She's meant to be in the music room. Thanks for asking!]]> Abbie C. Derbyshire Writers' GuildFri, 15 Jan 2016 18:06:30 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119453#msg-119453 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119453#msg-119453 ShannaG Derbyshire Writers' GuildThu, 14 Jan 2016 21:35:14 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119436#msg-119436 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119436#msg-119436 Amy Beth Derbyshire Writers' GuildThu, 14 Jan 2016 05:46:54 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119419#msg-119419 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119419#msg-119419Thanks for remembering your devoted readers and taking up the reins of this story again. I'm be haunting the message board in the coming weeks to check for updates!
-Jackie]]> Jackie Y Derbyshire Writers' GuildWed, 13 Jan 2016 08:27:44 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119418#msg-119418 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119418#msg-119418
Please forgive me, while I am thrilled you have returned, I may have to skip the next chapters until I can be assured that ODC are on the road to happiness. Between Aunt G and Miss B, all I see is trouble brewing. And I am not able to tolerate angst. At all.

I reread 16 several times but cannot figure out the continuity error, and I confess that my curiousity is getting the better of me, will you please share it with us?

Thanks so much for the shout out -- how thrilling to be recognized among all of your admirers.]]> LisaY Derbyshire Writers' GuildWed, 13 Jan 2016 05:11:22 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119413#msg-119413 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119413#msg-119413
Also forgive my mistakes as English is not my first language...]]> Kamila Derbyshire Writers' GuildTue, 12 Jan 2016 22:20:52 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119410#msg-119410 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119410#msg-119410 Vesper Derbyshire Writers' GuildTue, 12 Jan 2016 20:43:16 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119407#msg-119407 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119407#msg-119407
Now I'll go read it. :D]]> Kent Derbyshire Writers' GuildTue, 12 Jan 2016 16:44:05 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119404#msg-119404 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119404#msg-119404 Shannon K Derbyshire Writers' GuildTue, 12 Jan 2016 16:16:54 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119397#msg-119397 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119397#msg-119397 Abbie C. Derbyshire Writers' GuildTue, 12 Jan 2016 14:29:49 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119396#msg-119396 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119396#msg-119396 Vesper Derbyshire Writers' GuildTue, 12 Jan 2016 14:22:26 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119394#msg-119394 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119394#msg-119394 mpinney Derbyshire Writers' GuildTue, 12 Jan 2016 13:38:11 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119393#msg-119393 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119393#msg-119393 Maria V Derbyshire Writers' GuildTue, 12 Jan 2016 13:36:36 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119389#msg-119389 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119389#msg-119389
I hope Darcy will not let the "brother" comment deter him.]]> Estee Derbyshire Writers' GuildTue, 12 Jan 2016 09:12:48 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119386#msg-119386 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119386#msg-119386He also handled Mr. Collins very well. I can't wait until Elizabeth really can rub his tired shoulders for him.
Thank you for continuing this story and belated congratulations on your baby's birth!]]> Lucy J. Derbyshire Writers' GuildTue, 12 Jan 2016 05:55:11 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119384#msg-119384 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119384,119384#msg-119384
After approximately two years of life’s mayhem (working two jobs, getting pregnant, then hubby graduating and getting a job that necessitated a move across state lines with a newborn. . .), I’m now in a place with my time and creative energies to resume Fearful Symmetry. Thank you ALL for your extraordinary patience and dedicated readership! It’s good to be back; it truly is.

I wish to say a huge thanks to Roxey and Lizzy S. for volunteering in the Tea Room to beta the newest stuff. I am always happy to add more pre-viewers, since the more eyes on this monster there are prior to posting, the better! (Also, I miss you, Lisa Y.!).

I am re-posting Chapter 16 to correct one continuity error AND to help all of you here on the boards remember where we were in the story when life so rudely interrupted. If you recall, Jane and Elizabeth had returned home to Longbourn from Netherfield after Jane’s illness, only to return with their entire family when Longbourn caught fire. The original plot of Pride and Prejudice inverts at this point, and new symmetries take place, mirroring and reversing some of the novel’s action and thematic elements. As always in JAFF-verse, all borrowed quotations belong to Miss Austen. Enjoy!



Chapter Sixteen


On Saturday, the entire party at Netherfield gathered in the front sitting room to better enjoy its large and warm fireplace during a day that had turned cold, dreary and wet — the first sign of winter’s anticipated arrival.

Mr. Darcy was hard at work at the escritoire in the far corner, largely ignoring the conversations buzzing around him. His back was to the fire, giving better light to his ledger books as he worked calculations of yield, comparing them from one season to the next.

Elizabeth, in one of the chairs farther removed from the blaze, tried to keep her stitching even as she alternately squinted down at her work in the poor light from the window and studied Mr. Darcy with occasional stolen glances.

The escritoire seemed too small for him, she had decided. His shoulders were nearly wider than the writing surface, and the length of his legs and large feet quite extended beyond the footings of the desk. But his own proportions, though grander than those of most men and certainly grander than the desk itself was designed to accommodate, were so harmonious with themselves as to lend his figure grace. When she considered what she could conjecture of his lineage – the Norman blood of the D’Arcys from centuries before, combined with the Anglo-Scots of the Fitzwilliams of the Highlands – she felt that she could trace both, somewhat, in his mien and build. For did he not have the strong-boned face and the long-legged stride of the conquering men from Normandy? Did he not also have the sturdy, close-sinewed musculature of the Scots—and every bit of their surprising strength from ages of warriors past?

She smiled as she stitched. Visions of such characters among his family history were pleasing to entertain, for it was difficult to imagine Mr. Darcy with a conqueror’s club or a Scottish dirk in hand when she had only ever seen him grasp the tools of a gentleman: the reins of his mount or, as he did now, a pen.

She glanced up to watch his hands alternately spread and move over the pages, and soon, she discovered that her fantastical visions certainly seemed feasible. For his hands, upon inspection, showed themselves clearly more hardy than refined, with his long fingers less tapered and his knuckles much larger than those she had seen among the pale, slender hands of so many coiffed and powdered dandies in the fashionable streets of London. No, Mr. Darcy’s hands were certainly not those of a foppish gentleman of leisure, she decided; they had too much mass to be considered elegant. Yet, they were cleverly formed, with a dexterous, tough-tendoned grip that Elizabeth felt suited his decisive nature far better.

As she observed him at his work, he surreptitiously rolled stiffness out of the shoulder guiding his writing. He had been working long in that attitude, she surmised, long enough that he had been there before Miss Bingley had directed her guests into this room following breakfast. Now that so many were gathered in his working space — which perhaps might have been Miss Bingley’s peevish design — he had drawn his brows together in concentration and perseverance. It seemed he was determined to finish his task, regardless.

His strained expression stirred her, and Elizabeth, suddenly discomfited, was forced to remember herself and attend again to her work.

As she stitched, Elizabeth measured the emotions that brimmed near the surface of her consciousness and sought to understand them. Now that she had spoken to her aunt and had acquainted herself better with her growing attraction to Mr. Darcy, she was prepared to own that her tender feelings were stronger than they ought. She therefore felt only mild surprise when her inclinations drove an impulse she could recognize towards the forefront of her mind: her first desire was to ease his discomfort, to lighten his burden — to give him aid in any way she could— even to ease the tension in his shoulders with her own hands. Were he Jane suffering so, she would have done it. But as it was, the notion presented itself as something so wholly improper that she blushed and nearly dropped her sewing as the vision of her actually touching him played upon some inner stage before her mind’s eye.

As she fumbled with her threads in a flustered manner, Mr. Darcy’s glance alighted upon her with some amusement and curiosity as to her discomfiture. When her gaze met his in response and her already rosy countenance took on a deeper hue, he found himself nearly unable to continue his own work due to the sudden, wild turns of his speculative imagination. Teasing, teasing woman!

Suddenly, the sound of the wind and rain from outside increased, and those conversing in the room were forced to talk louder. Mrs. Bennet had already once complained that the rain had prevented another visit between the Gardiners and Bennets during morning calls, and so, finding the sound of the water slapping against the house disturbing to her nerves, she now complained of it again.

The rain did not, however, prevail against the arrival of one unexpected visitor whose determination and lack of sense rendered him quite impervious to the discomforts of such a journey.

“Mr. Collins!” cried Mrs. Bennet, smothering her alarm at his somewhat sodden appearance with effusions of welcome. “We are very glad you are come to visit, and on such a day, too.”

“Madam,” replied he, bowing and dripping a little upon Miss Bingley’s fine carpet as he removed his wide-brimmed hat and handed it to the footman. “I am come today to inquire after Miss Elizabeth’s health, for she took such a sudden illness when last I visited as to impress upon me the necessity of calling again to confirm her recovery, once sufficient time had passed as to allow her some hope of obtaining it.”

“That is very kind of you, sir,” put in Miss Bingley with fawning warmth, for she had found in this absurd man’s attention to Elizabeth a much-needed source of mirth in view of her previous day’s many mortifications. “Pray, do stay and take some tea, and make yourself quite at home. As you see, there is a seat just there, near Miss Elizabeth’s chair.”

This invitation was met with many cheerful words and deep bows by Mr. Collins. But Elizabeth, who had risen from her sewing to curtsey with the other ladies upon his entry, immediately sank back into her seat, glancing alternately at Miss Bingley and her mother with no small expression of alarm. Too late, she found herself once again in Mr. Collins’ close company as he approached her with a plodding and resolute step.

“Cousin Elizabeth, I am delighted to find you well, and I wished to express to you my humblest apologies if ought I said or did on Thursday contributed to your illness,” said he, without further greeting. “And I wish to offer you some comfort by informing you that, in addition to becoming the focus of many meditations as to how best to seek your forgiveness, you have also been the subject of my particular prayers for God’s healing and grace. As one who wishes for you only blessings and the happiest of lives, I would greatly desire during the course of this morning to request a private audience with yourself in the hopes of securing both objects,” he declared. With a smile at Mrs. Bennet, he added, “I shall, of course, request such permission from your honored parents as required for an audience of this intimate kind.”

Elizabeth was aghast. Before she could respond, Mr. Collins turned and applied to her mother with his request, which was eagerly granted.

“But of course!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet. “Lizzy, go into the music room at once and await Mr. Collins.”

“Please, Mamma, there is nothing that Mr. Collins may say to me that others might not hear,” Elizabeth pleaded, too much now in dread of her suitor to feel concerned by exposing herself in front of their party.

Her mother’s response was sharp and biting. “Lizzy, I insist that you go now and hear Mr. Collins!”

Wide-eyed, Elizabeth sought Jane’s gaze across the room, silently begging her sister to accompany her. When she stood up trembling, Jane stood, too, but Mrs. Bennet put out an arm to detain her eldest.

“What do you do here, Jane? You have no need to go.”

“Lizzy only wished — ”

The hand forestalling Jane’s progress tightened on her shoulder a fraction and signaled her silence. “Stay where you are and keep Mr. Bingley company; I insist upon it,” hissed Mrs. Bennet.

Elizabeth’s gaze offered her sister all clemency as Jane settled obediently back into her seat. Elizabeth then took a tremulous breath, gave her mother a level, angry stare, and resolutely turned from the room.

As Mr. Collins bowed to the company and opened his mouth to make his excuses to follow his cousin, an imperious voice near the fire, intoned so much like that of his patroness despite its depth of timbre, caused him to freeze in his tracks out of ingrained habit.

“Mr. Collins, before you are gone from us, I would speak to you of a matter pressing to Her Ladyship’s concerns.” It was not a request, and to prove it, Mr. Darcy moved towards the parson and overwhelmed him with the difference of their heights and the fullness of his gaze, dark and flinty now in the firelight. “It should take only a few moments of your time.”

The command of his appeal at once rendered the parson into an insensible mass of submission. “But of course, Mr. Darcy!” sputtered Mr. Collins, bowing obsequiously by instinct.

Mr. Darcy gestured for him to follow him from the room brusquely, and Mr. Collins at once complied, following doggishly on his heels to the library. From her chair, Mrs. Bennet huffed at both men in consternation at the timing of such a request as they went out.

When they arrived in the library, Mr. Darcy took a seat of authority behind the desk and beckoned Mr. Collins into the facing chair.

Mr. Collins’ nervousness bubbled over into unprompted speech: “Sir, if I may say —”

“I would rather you did not,” returned Mr. Darcy. “I would come to my point first, Mr. Collins.”

“But of — ” His reply was cut short with an impatient turn of Mr. Darcy’s large hand.

“Now, is it my understanding that you came into Hertfordshire under direction from my aunt to seek out a proper wife to join you in your work in the Church; is that not so?”

“You deduce splendidly, sir,” replied Mr. Collins, who would have gone on, except that Mr. Darcy’s eyes now bound him to silence.

“I would imagine that my aunt has impressed upon you the importance of finding a woman of excellent character, and of good family, and whose comportment would befit the humility and unimpeachable respectability befitting the wife of a clergyman,” continued Mr. Darcy. “Is that not also so?”

Mr. Collins nodded mutely.

Mr. Darcy’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward over his steepled fingers on the desk. “You choose exceedingly ill, Mr. Collins, if Miss Elizabeth Bennet is now your object. My aunt would find much to despise in Miss Bennet’s impertinence and willful independence were she to hold such a station as parson’s wife at the Hunsford parish. Have you never noticed these defects in Miss Bennet when you have been thrown together in company?”

“I confess I have not had much occasion to observe them, sir,” replied Mr. Collins in growing alarm. “But, while these faults may present themselves in Miss Bennet in such a setting as Hertfordshire, would not her behavior in Kent be rightly tempered by those senses of natural awe excited in every person by Her Ladyship’s authority and standing? Indeed, I would think Miss Bennet’s other, better virtues would teach her to mend such defects as an act of respect, especially once she came to understand how much of her care was provided for her by the beneficent generosity of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

“Upon my word, sir,” replied Mr. Darcy in some exasperation, holding up his hand again to forestall further foolishness. “Your hope is indeed extraordinary in view of what I must now relate: I am obliged to inform you that my own standing in society has certainly proven insufficient inducement to curb Miss Bennet’s sharp tongue. On more than one occasion, she has gone so far as to discredit my opinions in public, challenge my character, and presume to enter into open debate as an equal against me among my peers.”

“Has she indeed?” gasped Mr. Collins, mouth gaping wide in horrified shock. “I do see now, sir, how very mistaken I was in her character. Very mistaken! I thank you, sir, for the kindness of your forethought in sharing this information with me before I made a most grievous error which would have proven, in time, to be of great and lasting annoyance to my noble patroness. I would not see Her Ladyship offended for the world, I assure you, and certainly not by any wife of mine! I shall go at once to inform my cousin that my intentions must, by necessity, shift away from herself in consideration of such ill-considered vanity and pride as this behavior demonstrates.”

“Very well-reasoned, Mr. Collins,” said Mr. Darcy, forcing back a small smile tugging at his lips.

Mr. Darcy was thanked again and again for his candor and thoughtfulness in giving such advice, and Mr. Collins, having been granted his advisor’s leave repeatedly from this interview, turned and quit the room after several bows.

Mr. Darcy arose and went to the window, where, clasping his hands behind his back, he smiled broadly into the driving rain.

In the music room, Elizabeth’s own nerves were in an awful state. She dreaded the coming interview and had been growing in her vexation and perplexity as the clock behind her continued to tick away without the appearance of her would-be suitor. She had just risen from her chair to run from the room before he could arrive when he did, at last, appear in the doorway before her, and in doing so blocked her last means of escape.

Mr. Collins bowed to her as she started, gestured for her to be seated again with a sweep of his hand, and in discomposed yet solemn tones, thus began:

“My dear cousin, my attentions to you of late have been too marked to be mistaken, but I have just this morning learned that there has, indeed, been some mistake! Forgive me, I misrepresent myself! Let me begin by recounting to you my reasons for coming into Hertfordshire with the design of selecting a wife, as I certainly did. It may be advisable for me to begin with my reasons for seeking marriage.”

“Mr. Collins —”

Mr. Collins’s face clouded at this interruption — which yielded further evidence of her impertinence — and Elizabeth at once went silent at his unexpectedly forbidding expression.

He went on coldly, “My reasons for marrying are, first, that I think it a right thing for every clergyman to set the example of matrimony in his parish. Secondly, that I am convinced it will add very greatly to my happiness if I choose well; and thirdly, which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling patroness. Twice has she condescended to give me her opinion on this subject; and it was but the very Saturday night before I left Hunsford when she said, ‘Mr. Collins, you must marry. A clergyman like you must marry. Choose properly, choose a gentlewoman for my sake; and for your own, let her be an active, useful sort of person, not brought up too high, but able to make a small income go a good way. This is my advice. Find such a woman as soon as you can, bring her to Hunsford, and I will visit her.’

“And, so, desirous of meeting her requirements and also of healing the breach created by the entail of Longbourn, which, upon the death of your father (who may live many years yet) lawfully will fall under my care, I left Kent to seek a wife among the daughters of your household. Blinded by your manifold attractions almost at our earliest introduction, I singled you out as the companion of my future life. Although I had little occasion to observe the workings of your mind and character, I began to fancy that your vivacity must be acceptable to my patroness, especially when tempered with the silence and respect which Her Ladyship’s rank will inevitably excite.

Mr. Collins face took on a look of pained thoughtfulness. “Here I now unhappily discover myself to be mistaken,” he continued, “for only just this morning, I was given advice from the highest authority at hand regarding this matter — the advice of a gentleman who has, in sharing a house and neighborhood with you, been of your acquaintance above several weeks, and whose powers of observation must indeed be considerable, given the greatness of mind which his lineage has bestowed upon him.”

Elizabeth’s color bloomed as she wondered, supposed, and was silent. Mr. Collins took a breath of some satisfaction at seeing her discomposure before he revealed his esteemed source: “Mr. Darcy, who is Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s most valued nephew, spoke to me himself just moments before I entered this room, and acquainted me with such failings of your character as I deemed weighty enough to justify my throwing off any notions to form an alliance with you. Indeed, I now deem it my Christian duty, and my duty as your cousin, and my duty most notably as a clergyman, to alert you to these faults in your sinful nature which will inevitably expose you in your lifetime to censure by those in a position of rank, and which, indeed, may affect your own future prospects if they are observed by other gentlemen of any standing.”

“Sir,” said Elizabeth, suddenly burning with curiosity, “your words affect me deeply, and my interest and concern are all aflame. Please, Mr. Collins, I beg of you — be frank with me, and I shall thank you in advance for any insight which you may relay to me from the mouth of Mr. Darcy.”

“It is a privilege indeed to have such notice given to my concerns by such a man,” mused Mr. Collins, “but in this, he greatly resembles his aunt; I therefore cannot tender any true surprise. But I shall not fail in my duty to you, madam, by giving you all the benefits to be found in his most attentive correction.

“My dear cousin,” he continued sternly, “Mr. Darcy has informed me that you have a certain ‘willful independence’ in your character which refuses to bend before the dignities of rank and superior breeding. It was with great astonishment on my part that he gave me to know that you — on more than one occasion! —have so raised your own ill-formed opinions in your eyes as to render you too willing to most impertinently challenge his own, and more damaging still, that you have even thus acted before others and exposed yourself to ridicule by attempting to compare the workings of your mind to that of an educated gentleman. Beyond this, he tells me, you have also entered into argumentation on points of his character and merit within discourse in a manner most unbecoming a lady, behavior which would again reveal no small feelings of undue pride in your own vain ignorance.”

As Mr. Collins paused to recover his breath — a needful resource becoming more and more valuable as his haranguing increased in volume — Elizabeth tried to paint upon her face an expression of contrition, but she was helpless to do more than cover her mouth to hide her rising mirth.

Mr. Collins, seeing her discomposed and covering her mouth (which in his eyes, seemed to display some manner of self-censuring dismay) continued with some warmth, “All of these failings caused me to reconsider carefully those offers I had hoped to make to you today. But of greatest weight was Mr. Darcy’s opinion that such behavior as you exhibit would be most repulsive to his noble aunt, rendering you in her eyes most unfit for assuming the role of parson’s wife. Indeed, Miss Elizabeth, I am afraid that hardly any man would deem such qualities fitting in a wife, and I urge you now to re-examine your behavior and your conscience before you are wholly beyond the reach of amendment!”

As unexpected as this reproval was to Elizabeth, relief upon relief nevertheless mounted within her breast, and she had to force down her own laughter, even as he rebuked her. Her eyes began to sting and water with the effort.

Mr. Collins, seeing some evidence of what he perceived to be distress, softened his tone of address, but did not relent in his correction. “For today, Cousin Elizabeth,” he went on, “you have missed a great opportunity due to your own poor judgment. My situation in life, my connections with the family of De Bourgh, and my relationship to your own, are circumstances highly in my favor as a suitor — and these offerings have all bypassed you, due to your own neglect of character. Further, you should take it into consideration that, despite your manifold attractions, it is by no means certain that another offer of marriage may ever be made to you if you do not reform. Indeed, your portion is unhappily so small already that it will in all likelihood undo the effects of your loveliness and amiable qualifications, even if you achieve absolute perfection in all aspects of your conduct. I must therefore conclude, cousin, by repeating my hope that you will attend to your improvement, and by expressing my desire that you will also forgive me for reneging to offer you that which my behavior might have led you to hope for, and which might have benefitted your situation greatly, had your behavior been better.”

At this last declaration, he rose from his seat in an attitude of mixed pity and pomposity and appeared to have finished. He bowed to her once with a superior expression of solemnity and turned to go, but not before pausing to add, “Allow me, by the way, to observe, my fair cousin, that I do not reckon the notice of Mr. Darcy in pointing out your faults to be without merit for your consideration as well. It would befit you to offer him your apologies for your past misdeeds and also to tender him gratitude for his correction, even as I myself saw fit to thank him for his information.”

“Mr. Collins,” replied Elizabeth, her eyes dancing as she held back yet another laugh, “I can hardly not thank him. He is all goodness itself, and I find that today’s events have even more fully impressed upon me the true superiority of his mind above my own. I will not neglect any duty to him, I assure you.”

Mr. Collins bowed again in approval, and Elizabeth dropped into a curtsey. He went out at last, and as the door swung closed behind him, Elizabeth fell onto the music stool, helplessly clutching her sides as hysterical laughter overwhelmed her.

After some minutes of insuppressible mirth, she dabbed at her eyes and cleared her throat. Even with her discomposure put aside, the heady feelings of relief and happiness would not abate. She could not contain her wild delight at her sudden freedom.

Skipping down the hallway as gaily as a child, she came into the library, beaming to discover Mr. Darcy there alone, having moved to its larger table with his ledger books.

She bit her lip, hiding her smile as he looked up and drew to his feet. With an expression of perfect ease, Mr. Darcy crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her with one dark eyebrow raised, much in the manner of a war general awaiting with confident anticipation the news of his assured victory.

“Sir,” said Elizabeth evenly, “I am come to tell you that I must honor my promise to Mr. Collins.”

In an instant, his face transfigured to horrified astonishment; his arms came uncrossed; and he seemed to fall a little forward as he clutched the head of the chair he had so recently abandoned and said, “What? What did you say?”

“I promised him that I would apologize to you now for ever having questioned the opinions and workings of your mind,” Elizabeth explained. “Indeed, I find it is just that I do so. I own freely that your mind now holds no equal for me — for that was indeed the prettiest piece of cleverness I ever saw!”

At her pronouncement, Elizabeth gave in helplessly once more to laughter, which only increased as she watched the astonishment melt from Mr. Darcy’s face into understanding — and finally amusement.

As he let out a breath slowly and then dissolved into chuckles along with her, she eventually caught her breath and continued, “I also promised him that I would thank you for pointing out my faults in such a fashion. It was most well done, sir. Your timeliness could not have been better.”

“I assure you, it was my pleasure to discredit you so soundly,” said he with a bow and a slightly wicked grin.

Elizabeth laughed again in delight at his perversity and came around the table to stand before him. He straightened in surprise at her nearness and looked rather perplexed as she proffered her hand for him to take. He dutifully took it up without hesitation, weighing it as it fit neatly and almost completely into his palm. Great was his astonishment when she then tightened her grasp and shook hands with him warmly.

“In all seriousness, Mr. Darcy,” she began again, whilst they were still thus connected, “I find myself marveling that I owe you once again for snatching me from a fate no less perilous to my life and happiness than what we faced at Longbourn.” As she spoke, she gave him the best of her brilliant gaze, glittering in sincerity. But seeing him somewhat discomfited at her proximity and praise as he shifted on his feet and struggled to meet her eyes, Elizabeth was forced to recall with anxiety what her aunt had told her — that there was no firm reason yet to suppose him having any real affection for her. She therefore was reminded of her duty to herself, to her aunt, and to him, and restrained herself from showing him her heart.

Primly, then, yet not without warmth, she said, “You could not have acted better today in defense of my sanity were you my own brother. I can find in no other man a truer friend; I am most heartily convinced. I thank you from my heart, Mr. Darcy.”

His face at once drained of good spirits at her declaration as he blinked and straightened his shoulders. But she, choosing to see in this change the signals of his surprise rather than his equal measure of disappointment, moved to soothe his spirits for him by pressing his hand. Then, before her courage could abandon her, she gave into her wish to give him some token of her affection in the only fashion she could: she rose upon her toes and brushed a brief and grateful kiss upon his cheek, much as she might have done with her uncle or her father — or, had she one, as she had named him — a brother.

As there was no sentiment in Mr. Darcy’s heart that felt remotely avuncular or fraternal towards her, he could only blush, step back from her, and say quietly and with a fullness of feeling, “I am ever at your service, Miss Bennet.”

“And I yours,” returned she, curtseying to him with her own color high at her act of boldness. She then turned and traipsed gaily from the room, leaving him to his dusty ledger books and the searing remembrance of her kiss.


Chapter Seventeen


All of Netherfield attended Sunday services the next morning, and after luncheon was cleared away, it was with great wonder that Elizabeth was at last able to observe a phenomenon once described to her by Mr. Bingley: Mr. Darcy, of a Sunday evening, when he had nothing to do.

Books could not hold him, although he did try some; and conversation with him, though it was attempted by various persons and on various subjects, proved impossible.

The man could truly not sit still; and even as discourse in the room resumed yet again after the refreshing interruption and stimulation of the arrival of the Gardiners, he could not commit himself to speech. Instead, he stalked about the room in a fashion which Elizabeth might once have found intimidating or even infuriating. Now, she merely found his actions amusing and somewhat worthy of her pity and concern. “‘A more awful object,” indeed!’ she thought, recalling Mr. Bingley’s words. ‘A caged bear might have borne such confinement better. I wonder what it is that makes him fret so?’

Mrs. Gardiner sagely and silently observed it all. She even captured those tortured glances directed at Elizabeth which her niece did not. It was plain to her that Mr. Darcy was suffering acutely, and she could only presume that the source of such distress must have been something of her niece’s doing.

Much talk had spread already that Mr. Collins had returned to Lucas Lodge after a remarkably short visit to Netherfield. This knowledge and its intimations, handed out as near-fact by the arresting gossips in the churchyard and compounded with the indisputable signals of disdain in Mrs. Bennet’s constant unpleasantness to Elizabeth, led Mrs. Gardiner to suspect that some refusal to Mr. Collins had been made.

Mrs. Gardiner shook her head at her own conclusions. While she had not yet made the acquaintance of Mr. Collins, her impressions gathered from the man’s general acquaintance were enough to tell her that Elizabeth would in no way find him attractive, despite his generous offers. She fervently hoped that her niece had not turned away Mr. Collins due to an as-yet unfounded expectation of a better offer from another quarter. For Mrs. Gardiner, having long seen the world and its cruelty to young lovers of decided differences in class and sphere, had been taught that such expectations would often tender bitter disappointment to those who gave themselves up to fanciful hopes.

Mrs. Gardiner’s opinion only found reinforcement as she observed Mr. Darcy. For, as Mr. Darcy prowled restlessly about the room and avoided all conversation, Mrs. Gardiner began to determine that, although that gentleman’s admiration for her niece was obvious, he would never act on it. No, indeed – she was growing ever sure of it: Mr. Darcy would never dare to defy his duties to his sphere and make any proposals to her niece. Mr. Darcy’s present agitation spoke too loudly of his plans, silent though he remained; his distress was too obvious a symptom of his struggle as he resolved against ever lowering himself to act on an impulse of attraction.

Little did Mrs. Gardiner know that his suppression, acutely though it pained him, arose from sources beyond some nefarious workings of pride in his station. Nor could she have surmised that Mr. Darcy had already determined that he was able to withstand his feelings only if such self-denials were temporary, and that he hoped they indeed would be short-lived. Time — and the surrendered assurance of Elizabeth’s passionate regard — were needed to soothe him, was all.

To own the truth, Mr. Darcy felt entrapped by his intolerable position. He could scarcely stay still for want of moving somehow nearer to her in her affections, for he could not long abide being her heart’s brother. How such an appellation haunted him! How he sought to defy it!

In fits and starts, Mr. Darcy returned his distracted senses to the conversation at hand, only to be pained once more as he listened.

“I daresay there will be a great many young ladies disappointed, but I can see how our staying here — and after such a frightful event!—might force the ball to be postponed. I wonder I did not ask you of it before,” Mrs. Bennet was saying.

“Oh, indeed; yet, at another time, we shall host it gladly,” returned Miss Bingley through her teeth. “After all, Charles and Jane are so fond of dancing, and we must make every attempt to afford them marital bliss, once the wedding is over. Is that not right, dear Jane?”

Miss Bennet’s demure reply was lost to him, for Mr. Darcy was recalling sometime a week prior, when he had been tempted by the idea of staying on until the Netherfield Ball set for the twenty-sixth — if only for the pleasure of dancing with Elizabeth. But now it was not to be; and in less than eight and forty hours, Elizabeth would be gone to London, where he might only have occasion to call upon her with his sister, and perhaps share some conversation with her when she came to call upon Georgiana. It was unlikely they would meet socially otherwise, and certainly not to dance, since Elizabeth would now be relegated far away from his own circles and any more intimate, spirited gatherings.

Certainly, he and Elizabeth would never find themselves alone together in a library again! He cursed himself a fool.

The brilliance of his mind, so well-proven yesterday, seemed feeble under the weight of the depression today’s feelings brought. The muster of any plan or contrivance to secure her affections eluded him in his enforced helplessness — a condition unfamiliar to him, and reached only through the sheer excess of the many pangs of what he now believed to be an unrequited love.

Across the room in some affinity of distress, Elizabeth’s own disquietude began to mount at the premonition of the coming loss of Mr. Darcy’s daily company. For, in the past week, her ears had learnt to favor the sound of his voice, her eyes had come to seek delight in his countenance, and her mind and her heart had been so stirred by the many tokens of his intelligence and kindness as to arouse both to keen interest and affectionate regard. Study of him had become her most joyful diversion: she could not now be in the same room with him without becoming absorbed in his expressions and his doings.

She wondered now if his absence would render her more—or less—sensible or distracted a creature, and if she would ever teach herself not to hope for some evidence of his affection, even after they were parted.

As the evening wore on and Mr. Darcy’s silence stretched out ominously despite the lively conversation Elizabeth attempted to instigate within their company at the dinner table, Elizabeth began to fathom that her love must be in vain. Indeed, as she reflected upon it, she realized that he had hardly spoken a word to her all day. As a consequence, she went to bed dejected and slept very ill.

When Monday dawned, her spirits fell further with the onerous tasks this day presented: while her mother, Jane, and Lydia went to take their leave of their friends in Meryton (although Mrs. Bennet viewed these meetings as opportunities to crow of her triumph in Jane’s upcoming nuptials), Elizabeth was to go again to Longbourn. She would be accompanied this time by her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, her father, and also Mary, to reunite with Mr. and Mrs. Hill and the second of their two housemaids, to gather what other clothes and articles they could for the family’s sojourn in London.

Upon their arrival, however, Elizabeth and her relations were pleasantly surprised at the efficiencies already performed. Mr. and Mrs. Hill had seen to what preparations they could manage just as soon as the foreman, Mr. Higgins, had declared certain upper-room floor joists to be sufficiently reinforced and safe to bear the strain of some activity. The dear Hills had worked with the scullery maid, Sarah, and scoured, scrubbed, laundered, ironed, aired, and placed much of what was often used by the Bennets into trunks.

By tacit understanding, the sexes took to different tasks. The women gathered before the trunks and began organizing what was needed for their winter sojourn, while the men went at once to confirm with Mr. Higgins an order containing all of the needful materials for the next stage of repairs.

With far more ease and a great deal less soot, Elizabeth and her relations completed their tasks in time for dinner preparations, at which time Mr. Bingley’s footmen arrived to place the heavy trunks into a wagon bound for Netherfield. She did not envy them tomorrow’s task of strapping them to the roofs of the Bennets’ and Gardiners’ carriages.

When she returned to the drawing room at Netherfield, she was surprised not only to find some refreshments thoughtfully set out for their return, but also to discern among the many greetings offered to her the earnest tones of Mr. Darcy.

“I trust your morning’s business was concluded successfully?” he was asking.

“Yes, sir,” she replied, taking up a teacup in hand. She smiled as she reported, “Mr. Higgins’ forethought in reinforcing the upper floor allowed us access to most of our rooms to find what that was needed. You did well to recommend his services.”

“I am glad, though not surprised, to hear it,” returned Mr. Darcy in some satisfaction. “He has a reputation, proven in much of his work on my properties, for careful plans carried out with expediency. It may yet be that we may see your sister holding court at her own table for her wedding breakfast.”

Elizabeth smiled and shifted her weight as she balanced her saucer, wondering at this turn of conversation. “I am sure that would please Jane immensely, and my mother no less so,” she replied. She then glanced meaningfully across the room at Mr. Bingley, who was laughing with Jane on the fashionable sofa, the perfect picture of felicity and thriving affection. “Although I know that the formulae for such arrangements shall not ultimately matter — especially not to your friend.”

“No, indeed. I think him extremely fortunate in his choice of wife,” said Mr. Darcy, following her eyes to behold the beaming couple. “His happiness could not be more complete or certain.”

He smiled a little at Elizabeth as he gestured towards the mate to his own chair. Once she had taken that seat with an alacrity she thought she hid rather well, she returned, “Nor could hers. In that respect, they are well-matched.” Looking a little askance at Miss Bingley, who she perceived was watching her closely from her position near the teapot, Elizabeth could not help but add, “— Although some could say that your friend chose ill, in terms of fortune.”

Mr. Darcy drew his chair a little forward and conscientiously lowered his voice. “Fortune, while not immaterial to one of the so-called nouveaux-riche, is not the only consideration. Your sister is gently born, which is an attribute my friend unhappily cannot claim, although he has risen to a gentleman’s status upon his and his family’s own fortune and persistence.”

“That might be true,” replied Elizabeth, “but to wed a gentlewoman who is essentially dowerless, with a damaged homestead on a small estate — which is entailed away from her — and whose family boasts no real connections of value?” She shook her head. “I fail to see how their union could assist him — or his sister — in any plans to achieve or maintain high standing in society.”

Mr. Darcy frowned, perturbed by her persistence in a vein which could offer little contentment. “Connections can be built upon, just as homes can be rebuilt,” he returned evenly.

Elizabeth bit her lip. “If, by ‘connections,’ you mean to say that Jane and Mr. Bingley may make many advantageous friendships, then you would be right: they are each so obliging and good-natured that they will always keep within a generous circle of acquaintance. Yet friendship only carries so far; those connections by blood and marriage are of greatest significance to those in your sphere; you cannot deny it.”

“No, I cannot. Friendship between families, while important in one generation, often does not stand in the next, as blood does. Bloodlines and marital alliances are indeed deemed essential — and I fear only in this one resolution does our wastrel peerage seek to provide for its own future.”

Elizabeth shook her head, for she could not expect a different answer. “Perhaps Miss Bingley will marry a lord,” she quipped, before taking a sip of her tea.

Mr. Darcy, gladdened to see some return of her brighter spirits, chuckled doubtfully and took up his own cup, allowing Elizabeth a reprieve from his conversation so that she could enjoy her tea. But as he sipped and sat back in his chair to observe her, his mind traced over his own unspoken words: “Or perhaps she will acquire an Earl’s nephew for a brother-in-law.”

As the tea things were cleared away, the arrival of a footman immediately drew attention. The liveried young man sought Miss Bingley’s permission to present the latest post to those gathered, as it had not arrived in time for breakfast. Permission was granted, and he returned with many notes from a vast circle of their acquaintance bidding the Bennets a fond journey, offered in response to the many notes Jane and Mrs. Bennet had sent on Friday to those they knew they could not — or did not care to, in Mrs. Bennet’s case — visit directly prior to their leaving the neighborhood.

Mrs. Bennet claimed the pile of correspondence with all the esurience of a cat offered the first drippings of cream. To Elizabeth’s mortified dismay, Mrs. Bennet began opening some of them and exclaiming to the room over the neighborly felicitations offered to Jane and Bingley in such a fashion as embarrassed both of the lovers.

“For you know, they are so frightfully jealous of you, Jane; they must be. But they do say such kind things — you ought to read it for yourself,” she went on, handing Jane one of many notes. “Indeed, such kind attention from all our neighbors comes so unexpected, yet so welcome. Look how many letters there are! For see, here is one from Hetty Marshall, and look! Mrs. Gaines sends word as well. And here, this one comes almost from the next county — and here —”

Mrs. Bennet paused, puzzling over the directions written on one missive, and then another. “Why, Elizabeth, here are two letters addressed to you, too. I wonder who should have occasion to write to you, when you have nothing to do with anything? Oh, but this one is only from Charlotte Lucas — that hand and direction I know. But now, then: this one is from London, at quite a fashionable return address and in a very dainty hand. Who do you know in London, Lizzy?”

Her daughter blushed to have the details of her correspondence so bandied about. “Mama, pray give the letters to me, and I shall look into the matter directly,” said Elizabeth evenly, attempting to be calm in the midst of her mother’s interfering ebullience.

Mrs. Bennet tutted her disappointment, but reached over to hand Elizabeth the pair of missives. As she did so, Miss Bingley stepped forward to prevent Elizabeth from relying on Mr. Darcy, who in his seat was nearer, to close the gap between mother and daughter.

As soon as Miss Bingley’s sensitive fingers closed on the letters, she felt the one of them distinguished by its fine linen-weave paper, and her eyes sought the address. Astonishment creased her brow. She then turned to Elizabeth with sourness settled upon her expression.

“Why, Miss Elizabeth, I had no idea you were on such intimate terms with a certain young lady in London,” Miss Bingley sneered as she reluctantly did her office.

As Elizabeth silently received the letters in question and marvelled at the speed of the reply from Miss Darcy, Mr. Darcy himself could not help peering slightly over her shoulder from where he sat. “I had forgotten you had written back to my sister,” he said without thinking, having been rendered altogether too cheerful for restraint at this sign of his sister’s eagerness.

The effect of Mr. Darcy’s obvious pleasure — and his intelligence that it was his sister who had written first — turned Miss Bingley’s color. “Dear Georgiana is very kind to condescend to continue the correspondence,” put in Miss Bingley. “Such charity of spirit is to be commended.”

“I daresay,” said Elizabeth absently, not even looking up as she turned the letter over in her hands. Seeing Miss Bingley alighting too closely nearby, Elizabeth stood and curtsied. “Pray, excuse me,” she said to Miss Bingley. Then to Mr. Darcy, she explained, “I feel I should attend to this correspondence before further travel preparations prevent me.”







Until next time...when the Bennets are off to London!]]> Abbie C. Derbyshire Writers' GuildTue, 12 Jan 2016 03:55:02 +0000